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“Just make sure you give her some privacy, yeah?” Rosie tells her brother. She gets an eye roll in return. “Please, you know I barely have time to keep up with my kids.”
She looks like a lot of things to me, but gross isn’t one of them.
“Come on, fancy face.”
“Did you just call me fancy face?” I shrug and turn to walk away. “You didn’t like ‘doll’ or ‘bird girl.’ And your complete lack of any fine lines is pretty fancy.”
“Maybe I don’t like ‘fancy face’ either.” “Well, it’s a lot better than ‘old face.’” This time when she laughs, it’s a happy laugh.
I’ll figure it out without your”—her hands fly up and make angry air quotes—“big manly bed-making help.”
“It might may not seem like it, but I really appreciate your help.”
I focus on settling in and instead get lost thinking about tattooed hands and golden skin.
What is hard, though, is keeping myself from wondering just how single Weston Belmont might be.
She’s smart, brash, and downright hilarious. I wouldn’t have her any other way. And if anyone ever tries to put out her fire or make her feel like she’s somehow too much, I’ll break their face.
Skylar, who takes one glance at my apron, lets her eyes go wide, and slaps her free hand over her mouth. I glance down and realize I’m wearing the “This Guy Rubs His Own Meat” apron that Rosie got for me last Christmas.
I toss her a wink and smirk. “Sorry, if I’d known we were expecting company, I’d have worn my classy apron.”
“I’m pretty sure you got a good, long look earlier today,” I volley back, seeing her cheeks flush pink even as her eyes roll. Just as I’m about to keep going with a teasing response about being willing to show her again if she can’t remember,
Her lips continue moving, and I find myself distracted by them. Doesn’t matter that my kids are here. Doesn’t matter that she and I seem to be a little hot and cold.
“Dad, if I didn’t love you so much, I’d be real mad at you right now.”
“Well, Emmy baby, it’s a good thing that you love me so much, then.” I wink at my daughter,
“Skylar, I haven’t made proper introductions yet. This pint-sized barrel of attitude and oversharing is my daughter, Emmeline, but she’ll shank you if you don’t call her Emmy—” “I would never shank Skylar Stone,” she mumbles as I forge ahead. “And that boy lying on the grass in a pile of embarrassment is my son, Oliver. Or Ollie. Call him what you want—he won’t shank you.”
Realization dawns on me. Skylar’s recent freeze-ups on camera have received a lot of attention in the press. Most people see a young woman embarrassing herself publicly. But Ollie sees someone like him.
I point my tongs at him. “Mouthy little shit.”
Emmy freezes, mouth popped open, as I push my propped shoulder off the doorframe and let out a smug chuckle.
His first concern was for his daughter.
His second concern was for me.
In fact, the entire thing ended in laughter as West carried me out into the yard and acted as though he’d just rescued me from a burning building. He’ll never know, but in that moment, he healed me. Just a little bit.
I chuckle, amused by her confidence. Once again, I wish I had even an ounce of Emmy’s carefree surety in myself.
I’m fucking Eeyore but make him famous. Saggy shoulders but never forgetting to put that bow on his tail.
“You should come watch,” she says so simply. Like we haven’t just met today. Like there’s nothing she requires of me other than to come watch her play soccer.
“My dad always tells me that no means to try harder.
But from only knowing you and your dad for a day, I can tell he loves you very much. And if he can’t find you or is wondering where you are, he’s going to get worried.”
“Emmy, you are not annoying me, and you will not make me leave.
“I mean, he has terrible taste in music, which means he listens to the same stuff that Uncle Ford does. But he likes you. He never talks to anybody, and he talked to you.”
So just…maybe he’ll talk to you. I think that would be nice for him. So just don’t give up on him yet.”
It’s just a little boy’s heart and a little girl who’s looking out for her brother.
I can’t help but wonder if West braided his little girl’s hair himself. The thought of his big, gentle hands twisting strands of hair together with such care makes my chest pinch uncharacteristically. It makes me wonder what else those hands could do.
When we round the corner out of the trees, West is standing at the front door, shoulder propped against the frame as though he knew we’d be coming. He’s wearing boxers and absolutely nothing else.
He looks comforting and intimidating all at once. I wonder if he’d be gentle or rough. Or the perfect blend of both.
West’s irises become a shade closer to midnight blue in the dark. Navy like the blanket of the sky above us. I could wrap myself in that blue and maybe finally feel some peace.
“Okay, we can talk about it. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to mind my business if it means lying because you told me I can’t lie, and all I did was tell Skylar the truth.” Just like his daughter, West pushes his tongue into his cheek as he stares down at her, and I choke back a laugh.
Regardless, the way he looks at her tells me he loves every minute of it.
“Don’t I fucking know it. Love her to bits, but good lord, that girl will be the death of me.”
everything about Weston Belmont is so goddamn masculine I can hardly stand it. “You done gawking? Or should I flex while I wait for you to pull that phone out and take my number?”
“Yeah, that train was a runaway all right.”
have no idea what you mean. I was only checking to see if you have razor burn from shaving your chest,”
“Hey, fancy face!” he shouts. “You can take a photo of me like this for my contact card if you want!”
Instead, I hustle faster, to get away from West and his chiseled fucking everything before that horny little slut in my head turns around and takes him up on his offer.
“Fancy face, are you spying on me?” I didn’t go looking for him, but I found him all the same. Again. The two of us, drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
“Yes, I came up here to spy on you because I could hear you belting out my song all the way from the bunkhouse.”
“You’re full of shit. I was not belting. And even if I was, there’s no point in being embarrassed—we both know I sound good. And we both know you just came up for the show.”
But the apples of my cheeks hurt from the pressure of my smile.
“You were probably hoping I didn’t have my shirt on again. So you could check the quality of my shave, of course.” I waggle a finger over the length of his body as I take a cautious step into the barn. “Never mind your shirt. It’s your jeans that are distracting.”
“Skylar Stone, are you checking out my ass?” I lick my lips quickly. Are we flirting? It feels like we’re flirting.
